"Don't worry, I'm not here to fight." His tone remained unchanged, calm and confident.
My grip loosened slightly. He had a point—if he intended to attack, he wouldn't have wasted time exposing my lie. It would be smarter to use me, to exploit whatever I had to offer.
The Empire shouldn't have anything on me. They're not powerful enough to threaten me, and as far as I know, they aren't even aware of my existence. That leaves only three possibilities:
One, he's bluffing, taking a wild shot in the dark.
Two, this has nothing to do with the Empire at all.
Three—
A sharp glimmer of ice shot toward my liver.
It stopped abruptly, a meter away from me, before falling to the ground, all momentum drained.
Infinity sure was useful for defense.
The prince's grin widened as the ice dissolved into thin air. "So my guess was right after all."
The sudden attack sent a brief chill through my spine. I might be immortal, but pain still existed, and I wasn't particularly fond of feeling it.
At least now I had confirmation—it was his own suspicion, not the Empire's. If this had been an official investigation, things would have been far more complicated. Starting a war with the Empire would be a hassle. I hadn't launched a war in ages, and frankly, I was a little out of practice. Then again, maybe it would've been a decent warm-up for the real battle ahead.
"White hair only comes from two places," the prince continued, his voice laced with amusement. "The southern region of the Seckan Empire or the Baiar Kingdom."
That lined up with what Justan had mentioned earlier. But how did he figure it out so fast? A soul property? No, that didn't make sense. The ice strand he launched was pure soul energy manipulation. Was he just... absurdly smart?
"The thing most people forget about the Baiar Kingdom," he added, "is that white hair was the hallmark of the previous royal family. And after their massacre, very few people still carry that trait."
Damn it, Justan!
I hadn't "forgotten" that—I never even knew in the first place.
I needed a way out. "What if I'm an escaped royal? Maybe I survived the purge."
It was a bluff, but a calculated one. There was still a slim chance he didn't have all the details.
"You're telling me a six-year-old Freon managed to slip past thousands of royal knights and make it all the way to the Seckan Empire by pure luck? What, do you think you're blessed or something?"
If only.
I kept my expression neutral, but internally, I cursed Justan again.
The prince leaned in slightly, his smirk deepening. "So, where are you really from, Freon?"
Before I could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.
"What are you two talking about? Sounds boring."
Janna's thick accent instantly told me she'd had more than a few drinks.
Perfect.
I seized the opportunity, muttering a quick excuse about an appointment with Mr. Folentine before making my way toward the door. I didn't bother looking back or listening to their replies.
Right now, all I cared about was getting the hell out of there.
"…"
I stepped out of the academy, needing space to think. The guard at the entrance gave me a questioning look, but I fed him a small lie—just some fresh air, a quick walk, nothing more. I promised to return before sundown. He nodded, letting me pass.
The city was quieter than usual, though that was expected. Leroy, the never-ending city. It was always alive, but at this hour—just past noon—the energy felt different. The morning rush had settled, leaving behind the steady hum of merchants, workers, and travelers.
I wandered east, toward one of the city's busier districts—a gathering spot filled with taverns and shops surrounding an ancient fountain. Supposedly, it was built thousands of years ago in honor of an angel who once protected the royal family. A convenient lie. If an angel had ever truly descended, I would've sensed it. Their presence was too overwhelming to ignore.
I stepped into a bar, hoping the background noise would help clear my thoughts about Prometh.
The interior had a classic charm—wooden floors, sturdy walls, and a warm midday glow filtering in through the windows. I found a seat at the counter, waiting for the bartender to finish her work before calling for her. Respecting people's time was a simple courtesy. No reason to be a jerk on what could be my last adventure.
She turned toward me after serving another customer. Up close, I noticed her tied-back dark hair and sharp brown eyes, assessing me in return. She looked to be in her mid-twenties—definitely more my type than the girls at the academy.
"What do you recommend?" I asked.
She didn't waste time, listing a few choices. I went with her first suggestion.
As I waited, I let my gaze drift. A girl sat at a nearby table, her posture tense. Across from her, a man—late twenties, drunk despite the early hour, leaning too close. She wasn't smiling. She didn't want to be there.
I clicked my tongue, looking away. Not my problem.
The bar door creaked open.
A man stepped inside, his presence immediate. He wore oversized clothes, but beneath them, I caught glimpses of metal—a knight's armor. His stride was purposeful, his destination clear.
I felt it before I saw it. A flicker of light.
A sharp pop cut through the murmur of the bar.
The knight stopped before the drunkard, staring down at him. A clean hole marked the man's forehead, blood trailing down as his body slumped forward.
For a moment, silence. Then—screams. Panic erupted as patrons scrambled for the exit, shoving past each other in a blind rush. Chairs overturned, glass shattered. Chaos.
But five people remained unmoving.
The bartender, frozen under the counter. The girl, still in shock. The knight. The dead man. And me.
I studied the executioner. Black, unkempt hair. Golden eyes, fierce as a starving predator. Lucian Shun.
Lucian grabbed the corpse by the collar, dragging it across the wooden floor, leaving a streak of blood in his wake. He moved without hesitation, without remorse. Like this was routine.
At the door, he paused. Turned his head.
His finger lifted—pointed directly at my forehead.
Flash.
A bullet of light shot forward, stopping just a meter away. It flickered—then vanished.
I exhaled slowly. Not fear. A warning.
Lucian disappeared into the midday streets, leaving behind only two coins on the floor. Payment for the mess he made.